Page 112 of The Enemy Protector
Clacking on the keyboard tells me she’s following my order. "Sending it."
The file appears in my inbox within a minute. I open the file and read it.
The shipping destinations aren’t hospitals or clinics. The codes route to off-book warehouses that shouldn’t exist.
I sit back in my chair and remember a conversation I overheard a year ago. Back when my father was still running things with his iron fist.
I convinced myself I misheard. Told myself my father would never be involved in trafficking humans.
But I know I’m looking at something that has been flying under my radar this last year.
Until Yuri showed up.
This is Yuri. He’s increasingproduction. More money. More power—for him.
I’m on my feet and moving. Nelson falls in step.
“You’re in a hurry,” he says.
“We’re going to Warehouse B,” I say.
“We’re not doing that.”
I slap my hand against the elevator button. “I am. I don’t give a shit if you tag along.”
“You know I can’t let you do that on your own.”
And I knew that. I won’t admit that I’m happy to have him with me because I know I’m walking into something.
The warehouse is in Greenpoint. Nothing unusual from the outside. There are two men at the door. I recognize them but I don’t know if they’re loyal to me—or Yuri.
“This might get messy,” I tell Nelson.
“Keep the car running,” Nelson tells the driver.
He reaches under his seat beside me in the back. The front passenger opens the glovebox. I watch Nelson check the chamber, the mag and then hand me the gun.
I take it, check the safety and put it in my purse.
Myself, Nelson and another guard climb out. The driver pulls the SUV a little closer to the door, ready for a fast escape if necessary.
The men look at me, then the Sokolov men.
“What’s this?” one asks.
“Inspection,” I reply and step past them. I pull open the door like I have every right to be here.
On the inside, I’m tamping down the terror. But I don’t let it show.
I get eight steps inside before I understand what I'm looking at, and then I stop.
The room is cold. There are industrial refrigeration units along the far wall. Containers that look like ice chests. There are two hospital beds with lighting overhead and trays of instruments beside them. It looks like a crude surgery room. Bile rises in my throat. An antiseptic smell fills the space, tickling my nostrils.
I stand there for what is probably thirty seconds but feels much longer.
I was expecting to find cages of young women.
That’s not what I found.
